


We Know Where We Belong

by amerjkates



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, a good number of semi colons, also a lot of em dashes, too many commas probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 14:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerjkates/pseuds/amerjkates
Summary: It's a morning in, with no hero-business to attend to, which James and Natasha, of course, take advantage of.





	We Know Where We Belong

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Harry Styles' Sweet Creature.

It's not every day that the two of them are allowed to sleep past ten, Natasha having shut off her alarm hours ago and James following suit when his own went off.

At some point the night before, as they ripped clothes from each others' bodies on the way to bed, their phones had gotten lost; surely, both were without battery by now, but any world-ending situations would alert them in other ways as well.

So they're curled up against each other, Natasha's face pressed up against James' bare chest, her breath a comfortable reminder of the lives they have in front of them. He's not one for sentimentality, sure, but as his eyes open to see her hair strewn out behind her, feeling her fingers grasping the metal of his left arm, he can't help but be appreciative of what they have, after all the times they've nearly lost everything.

Once, he tried to wake her up with fingers in her cunt and his mouth on her tits, but that ended horribly and a lesson was learned. So this morning, he gently moves her limbs over and tucks her back in before putting on a robe and walking to the kitchen and making coffee as quietly as he can manage (which, given his history as a world-renowned assassin, is nearly silent), not at all expecting her to stay asleep.

And she's not, when he walks back into the bedroom, two mugs in hand and a book tucked between his elbow and ribs. Instead, she's sitting up against the pillows, the duvet coming up just above where he knows her nipples are, a hand somewhere lost beneath the white, green eyes staring at him as she breathes heavily.

He chuckles, then: "If you want me to fuck you, you gotta let me drink my coffee first." It's a challenge, teasing her, as he sits down on the bed and wraps his robe more securely around him. She must know he's half-hard by now, but he won't give her the benefit of seeing his cock, just as he knows she's nude beneath the sheets but won't pull them down.

"Fine," she huffs, reaching for her own mug, then sliding it up to her mouth in a way only she knows how, erotic in the simplest sense, her eyes wide as she lowers the cup, tongue darting out to catch anything left on her lips.

It's all for his benefit, and he knows it. They don't get enough of these mornings, just the two of them, and so he drinks from his cup as fast as he's able, wincing as the fresh coffee burns his mouth. The moment his cup is empty, he sets it down on the bedside table, reaching for hers.

But it's her turn to tease, now, and she doesn't let go as easily as he wants, keeping his gaze as she drinks, the seconds passing by slower than ever, so he does what he knows how to best, and _torments_ her.

His robe is still on, cock now hard against the worn fabric, but he ignores it for now; choosing instead to lower himself next to her, fingers tracing her breast over the thin duvet. It's minutes of just _this_ before he finally pulls the sheets down just enough, a gasp escaping her lips at the sudden coldness, his lips finding her taut nipple.

Natasha has to stretch to set her coffee down, their game coming to a close as she bucks her chest up against his greedy mouth. He smiles, making eye contact with her, his stubble scratching against her chest. She doesn't mind, though; rather, she lives for the feeling.

Her arms are still below the covers, a fact she uses to her advantage, pressing her palm against her cunt. It's not enough to release, though, and the moment James notices it he pulls the sheets down further, snaking his own hand over her own. He's no stranger to her body, and he could make her come in just seconds if he so desired, but today they get to go slow. Instead, he traces his fingers around – _but never over_ – her clit; dips one finger barely inside her cunt, not far enough to hit her sweet spot; with the lightest, feather-touch pressure known to mankind.

She's needy, pressing up against his mouth and hand, but he won't give in. Rather, he removes his mouth from her entirely, taking the chance to observe her movements and consider his options. He could get stop ignoring his own needs and fuck her hard against the bed for as long as both of them lasted, or he could continue going _painfully_ slow and get both of them better orgasms for it.

James chooses the latter, needless to say; trailing his left hand over the covers and pulling them down further, his lips meeting her own for a few moments before he continues down, down, _down_ – past her breasts and navel to inhale the sweet smell of her dripping cunt.

But then he continues even further, sucking marks onto the crease where her pelvis meets her thigh, scraping his teeth _just_ enough before coming back to her core.

He inhales her perfect scent, then _finally_ gives Natasha what she wants, sucking and licking and getting two fingers (flesh, _always flesh_ for this) up inside her cunt. She rises to meet him, arching off the bed and into his open mouth, her hands pressing him closer to her.

By this point, his cock is hard and red and _dripping_. All of this is ignored in favor of the sounds she makes as he curls his fingers and presses repeatedly against that spot she loves so much, tongue circling around and over her clit. It's just a moment of this before she's gasping so hard that she comes with a gasp and a shudder, pressing further against him as he laps up all the juices the pour out of her fulfilled cunt.

Before she can even think, though, he's crawled back up and on top of her, with his mouth on hers. He lines up his cock with her cunt and she presses up to him, exactly where each of them belongs.

Now, he lets loose everything he's been holding back the past half hour, slapping against her, flesh hand on her clit and metal tangled in her hair. Natasha's moaning against the spot where flesh meets vibranium, and it's all he can do to hold on to her.

But she takes control, flipping them so she's on top of him: his face in her breasts, sucking and biting; his fingers still on her clit, thrumming over the sweet bundle of nerves; her hands on his shoulders, gripping against him.

And they finally come, in perfect sync against each other with mumbled Russian spilling from his lips as she captures them in her own, her cunt throbbing as his cock pulses inside. They stay like this for a moment before Natasha sits up and smiles, already plotting.

"You should, absolutely, under _no_ circumstances," her voice dripping with salty sarcasm, "interrupt me in the shower I'm about to take. That would be _entirely horrendous._ "

With that, she saunters to the bathroom down the hall, and James stays in bed a moment, letting her think she'll have to shower alone.


End file.
